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The day started like another spring morning

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The day started like another spring morning there was thick dew on the surrounding meadows, there was a heavy fog on the distant mountains almost like the clouds had been fighting and one had fallen and lost. The air was tight; it was choking to stand in. You could hear the shrieking of a seagull over head, it’s funny I can still hear my father mumble with his pipe in his mouth “it’s a bad sign a seagull this far in land, there must be a storm coming!” and I would just reply with an “ar ahh” or a “maybe” it used to drive him mad. It’s sad really my dad is almost fifty years deceased. I didn’t even get to carry his coffin you see I was in the war I wasn’t allowed to leave thats what I miss about John you see John he was there he was my friend, my lifelong friend and when he heard that I couldn’t make it home, he carry the coffin by his self. Now my father wasn’t a big man but it was a tight lift for a man that had shrapnel in his leg you see John was bread strong he was six one and a half but as wide as a door and made of steel.

They say the day that bomb hit him and I he carry me on his shoulder while returning fire, but You know it was always that way when we were in school, John was the small one. I remember when big Jim evens and his brain dead minions had corned John for sum silly comment that he had thrown at Jim in class. I don’t remember why but I remember swing my right hook a big Jim’s districted face and ruby tackling one of the brain-dead when I turn to look at John, he had hold of the other two and was like a small terrier refusing to let of their necks. In years to come little did we know we would need each other some much. After the war I drank a lot and even then john was there to pull me by the caller, but he need me too, every stormy, thundery night john used to get flashback of the night forty of us left and four return. The blood and guts of your friends being blown to bits flashing in the darkness “hell it no way dies”.

I can’t believe that it’s a year today he died, of all the things to die of but cancer. The last thing he said to me was “when am gone just carry on and don’t go back to the drink“and what am I doing now? All of a sudden I seen this old disorientated man sitting by the fire nursing a bottle of whiskey for the pain in his chest, when the bottle crashes to the hard wood floor and still the man kept staring at the chair across from him and says with a weak and out of breath voice “if now is my time old friend” then with almost a sigh of relief the man falls to the ground “thump” you see the thing am not telling you is that old disorientated man is me.

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